Home: Poetry: Ivy McKnight: In the Veins
Fair is the sweet dawn,
When we were but shadows,
Fallen in a crowd,
Like lightening bugs,
On the plain of stars.
“Better them then me,”
you point and say,
compassion’s not your game.
Wondrous earthly poison,
You shall drink life’s blood,
And fall on absence,
Of color and light,
Swept in by moon-shadows,
Jagged edges from,
The dream of bones.
It filters like sunlight,
Through these millions of men,
Harking their calls and,
Fearing sweet neighbors.
Soldiers carrying rubbish,
To their high queen mother,
Severance of the devil’s pay,
It behooves us to know,
The price of charity,
And the loss of ourselves.
Can bringing on the rain,
Mean killing every passion?
The innocence of last night,
So long ago in time,
Helps us to understand,
We felt the way we used to,
And we might as well live,
And pray it to continue,
Just as long as there’s a foothold,
To a lost opportunity.

All copyrights are acknowledged and those remain the property of the owners. Also these pages contain my opinions (unless otherwise specified), and thus, does not reflect the beliefs of others. The Garden of the Black Rose and its related pages are copyrighted (c)1998 by Ivy McKnight